


Roses are Red, and Violets are Gay

by Fallynleaf



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 09:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallynleaf/pseuds/Fallynleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thinks they can all agree that they've been stuck together in Blood Gulch for far too long. And that none of them are gay. Well, except for Donut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roses are Red, and Violets are Gay

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a fic that explores, in a sense, the way the Red vs. Blue characters react to homosexuality and gay panic, as well as putting it kind of into context with how they interact with Donut. The result is a somewhat contradictory mess of reactions that hopefully fits the style of the series itself.

“I literally hate you more than anything else.”

“Wow, Grif. What an original, well-crafted insult. They generally work better, y’know, when they’re actually about something specific!” Simmons snapped, fiddling with his gun.

They were standing on a roof, cupped in a canyon edged by pasty, dry hills, where they were occasionally bombarded with motes of dust lifted from the barren sands. Big fucking surprise.

“Well, then I hate you, specifically, more than anything else,” Grif said.

“I give up.” Simmons sighed.

“Not even an A- for effort?” Grif asked.

“No! You suck.”

Grif turned towards him. “I suck what, specifically?”

“My dick,” Simmons said feebly. It was too hot outside to be creative with his insults.

There was a pause. It wasn’t an awkward one. There were too many silences between these hills, between these men, for a lull in conversation to be awkward. In fact, without these pauses, Simmons thought his head might explode.

“Y’know what?” Grif said, trailing off. “I’ll suck yours if you suck mine.”

Simmons spoke before he could process the request. “Okay.” He blinked. Then the panic set in. “Wait, what? No!”

“C’mon, it’s not like there’s anything else to do. The Blues aren’t even out here!”

Simmons looked at him. “. . . You just want to go inside and take a nap.”

“Yeah, well, beats standing on a roof in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, roasting my ass off, keeping watch on an empty base!”

Simmons cast a cursory glance over the parched dirt. “Okay, fine,” he said.

“Really?”

“Just, this better not take too long. Sarge left me some paperwork to organize.”

 

* * *

 

Church stood in the vague shade behind the base, surreptitiously trying to discover any more possible switches in the nether regions of his new robot body.

“Dude, I know what’s going on, but that still looks sketchy as shit,” Tucker said, emerging from around the corner.

“Hey, this is a robot, remember? It doesn’t even have flesh, much less a fucking dick!” Church said.

“Oh, it’s got a dick, alright,” Tucker muttered.

“Oh, please!” Church audibly rolled his eyes. “Just shut up and help me, okay?”

Tucker leaned against the wall of the base. “I fingered your dongle once, already. I’m done. That shit’s fucking gay, man.”

“Well, it’s not like the damage hasn’t already been done. The Reds already think we’re doing it, Tucker.”

“Y’know what sucks? When you get all of the dumb shit that comes with people thinking you’re getting it on but none of the actual sex part,” Tucker said.

“Tell me about it,” Church said. An image of Tex formed vaporous in his mind. “Wait, are you saying that you want to have sex with me?”

“No! Excuse me while I step aside to barf,” Tucker said quickly.

“Oh, well. . .” Church’s hand came up to brush through hair that he no longer had before it collided unceremoniously with his helmet. He coughed.

“Wait, do _you_ want to have sex with me?” Tucker asked.

“Uh, I mean. . . It’s never really come up before. The idea, I mean. I, uh, don’t – “

“Dude. Stop talking. You’re rambling. The more you talk, the more I think the answer is yes.”

“Is that a problem?” Church asked quietly. It was honestly the first time he’d contemplated having sex with Tucker. The image was supposed to be a repulsive one. Tucker was male, which meant he was a guy, and 2 + 2 = gay. But Church was not immediately repulsed, and the more he pursued the thought, the more – . . . Shit.

“Of course it’s a fucking problem!” Tucker said.

Church tried not to slide to the ground during his momentary gay crisis. Thankfully, robot legs were stronger than his flimsy emotions, and he remained quite rooted to the spot. Too rooted. Church tried to step back only to find that his body wouldn’t respond.

“Shit! Tucker, I must’ve hit some switch after all. I can’t move my legs.”

“Are you shitting me?” Tucker approached Church.

“Um, no.”

“Because your timing sucks major balls, dude,” Tucker said flatly.

“Can you just – “ Church gestured vaguely.

Without glancing away, Tucker reached down and grasped a hold of Church’s codpiece, jerking it roughly. Church looked down and observed the proceedings blankly for a brief time.

“Man, it’s weird to not feel anything down there,” Church said.

“You mean you can’t? Really?” Tucker asked.

“I told you! There’s just wires and circuits and metal! Where did you hear the word ‘robot’ and think ‘oh, it probably has a dick,’” Church snapped. Certain unforeseen consequences of being a ghost were just now occurring to him.

Tucker, it appeared, was undergoing a similar revelation. “You mean, you can’t have sex anymore? Dude, that fucking sucks!”

“No, it doesn’t fucking anything,” Church said miserably.

Tucker returned to the task of searching for the switch, simultaneously doing it more absently and with more focus.

He must have hit something right, because Church’s left knee flexed, and then his right, and then he was back to almost teetering over.

“Oh, thank god!” Church said. “Looks like my legs are back on again.”

Tucker straightened, his glance cast slightly askew. “So. . .” he said. “I wonder what it’d be like to get a handjob from a robot?”

 

* * *

 

“We both really suck at this,” Grif commented. “Pun not intended.”

“Well, it’s not like I’ve ever given a blowjob before. I don’t exactly have much practice!” Simmons sighed, taking a seat beside Grif on the bed. The mattress sagged, gravity pulling the two of them closer than intended.

In the silence, the heat leaping between them felt warmer than ever, every little sensation of touch made more tangible in the wake of what had just happened.

“It’s been long enough or something, anyways,” Grif said. “Because that took a lot less time than I was expecting.”

“And now my mouth tastes like cock,” Simmons complained.

“Mine tastes like Dick,” Grif said.

Simmons prodded him a couple times in annoyance. Soon, he was leaning on Grif, having given up on fighting gravity. Simmons could only take so much fighting before it laid him out bare on the dusty hills and he couldn’t move for want of the shade.

“I’m gonna take a nap,” Grif said. He fell onto his back on the bed and Simmons toppled over onto him, then yelped and straightened more rigid than before.

“This is my bed, dumbass,” Simmons said.

“Yeah, so?” Grif rolled onto his side so that he was practically curled around Simmons. “You don’t have a monopoly on sleep,” he mumbled drowsily.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Simmons said. Any moment now, he was going to get up and leave the room and get started on Sarge’s paperwork. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself as he continued to sit there and listen to the steady rumble of Grif’s breaths fast becoming snores.

Any moment now.

 

* * *

 

“You closed your eyes!” Church said accusingly.

“Dude, what did you expect? You’re a robot. Metal and wires aren’t exactly leather and fishnets,” Tucker said, pulling up his pants. “Besides,” he continued, “No offense, but you’re kind of really huge.”

“Bow chicka bow wow?” Church said.

“I’m not talking about your nonexistent dick – “

“ – For once,” Church cut in.

“ – You’re huge in a scary sort of way,” Tucker finished. “Wait, that sounded more manly in my head.”

Outside of his armor, Tucker was maybe half of Church’s size. Where Church was metal and bulk, Tucker was scrawny and soft and fleshy, his skin warm, brown and malleable. Contact with Church was a cold, metallic pressure.

Tucker stood a pace away, his gaze cast askance, almost submissive, if this wasn’t _Tucker_. Church regarded him and for once, he couldn’t produce anything to say.

“I dunno how sex’ll work out,” Tucker said. “I thought I’d try, I mean, it’s not like there’s really any other options around here, and I’m getting kind of desperate, but at this rate. . .” he trailed off. “Wait, you’re not in love with me, are you?” he asked.

“Fuck no,” Church answered firmly. He knew that much, at least. He thought.

“Good. Because that would be gay, and I’d hate to lose my handjob source.” Tucker began putting on his armor, his usual asshole confidence returning with each piece.

“You mean. . .”

“What else can I say? I’m not gonna pass up sex after being stuck in this shithole without getting any for so long. And at least you’re not Caboose.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Church asked.

“Dude’s in love with you, as far as I can tell. It’s fucked up, man. I don’t even want to know.”

 

* * *

 

Donut walked in on the tail end of the conversation.

Church sounded angry, or at minimum annoyed, his raised voice echoing down the halls of the base as Donut approached.

“Caboose, are you in love with me?” Church yelled.

“Yes. That is why you are always my valentine,” Caboose said.

“Fuck!"

“. . . Tucker did it,” Caboose said automatically.

“Fuck!”

There was a pause. Donut almost walked in, but it wasn’t quite the right time yet.

“. . .Why?” Church asked. “Why me?”

“Because you are my best friend.”

“I’m not – “ Church sighed. “So wait, being best friends or whatever means we should be bumping uglies?”

“Private Pastry is not ugly. He is a strong, independent woman.”

“What? Who?”

“Good morning, everyone!” Donut sang as he walked past them into the room. “It’s about to get hot and creamy in here. . . . After I find some maple syrup to go with the pancakes I’m going to make!” he said, humming as he began to rummage through the cabinets of the Blue base kitchen. “My favorites are blueberries,” Donut continued. “I just love to suck on the big, juicy ones until they burst!”

“Oh, oh! Can you make mine with chocolate chips inside?” Caboose asked excitedly. “And make it shaped like Mickey Mouse.”

“Wait, _Donut_?” Church exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Hm?” Donut turned around. He’d forgotten that Church was there.

“He is here because of the sleepover, of course,” Caboose said.

“Sleepover,” Church repeated.

“Yes. It is when you stay the night at a girl’s house and sleep in the same bed. Only not much sleep happens,” Caboose explained.

“. . . And you and Donut had a sleepover. Last night. In Blue base. Together,” Church said.

“Yes.”

Donut smoothed down his apron, then reached around his back to fasten it with a bow over his armor. “Caboose,” he called over his shoulder. “Don’t worry about the sheets; I’ll wash them after breakfast!”

“Okay!”

Church choked. “You mean, he spilled milk on them or something, right?”

“Nope!” Donut answered happily.

Caboose got up and wandered out of the room, having already lost interest in the conversation.

“Are you trying to tell me that you fucked _Caboose_?” Church asked, his voice increasing in pitch.

Donut went back to stirring the batter into a creamy, ever-so-slightly lumpy paste that would dribble quite well into fun shapes on the skillet.

“That’s – that’s like child molestation!” Church said. “Caboose has the mental age of a five-year-old!”

“Caboose is a consenting adult,” Donut said simply.

“Jesus Christ.” Church sat down.

“It’s not that hard to wrap your mind around. Or your lips around, as the case may be,” Donut said with a smile that no one could see but which was annoyingly apparent in his voice.

“Hey, do I smell waffles?” Tucker’s voice came from the doorway. “And why is Donut here?”

“Caboose had sex in Blood Gulch before I did,” Church said.

“I don’t think getting inside a tank counts,” Tucker said. “Or handjobs, might I add.”

“But getting inside Donut counts,” Church said miserably. “And handjobs seemed to count enough for you last night.”

“Having a lover’s quarrel?” Donut asked in a singsong voice.

“No! And fuck off back to your own base!” Church said.

“But I’m making you pancakes!”

“The fairy princess does make a valid point,” Tucker said. His helmet was pointed directly at the pancakes. If Church concentrated, he could probably hear the rumble of Tucker’s stomach.

“I don’t want any gay pancakes,” Church said.

“What if they’re just ‘likes to fuck men on occasion’ pancakes, would that make them okay?” Tucker asked flatly. “Dude, for someone who’s not gay, you sure panic about it a lot. Makes a guy wonder.”

“Oh, please, like you didn’t put in a couple dozen disclaimers yourself.”

At some point, Caboose reentered the room. He sat down at the table beside Church and tipped his head up at Donut expectantly.

Footsteps clattered outside of the door. They were accompanied with the sounds of a muffled argument. Then the door burst open.

Grif and Simmons rushed in, guns at the ready.

“Alright, we’re here to rescue Donut,” Grif said without any enthusiasm. “Wait, do I smell pancakes?” The level of interest in his voice noticeably jumped.

“Oh, hey guys!” Donut said. “Sit down; the pancakes’ll be ready in a couple minutes.”

“But we’re supposed to be – “ Simmons started.

“Way ahead of you – “ Grif said. Simmons hadn’t even noticed him pull back a chair.

“Remind me again why the entire Red team is in our base,” Church said. It was too early in the morning to be self-righteously angry at everything.

“Not the entire team. We are missing the pirate captain,” Caboose said.

“Who?” Simmons asked.

“I think he means Sarge,” Church said.

“The government says piracy is bad,” Caboose continued quietly.

Simmons was the only one besides Donut who was still standing. He shifted his weight on his feet. “We don’t have time for this!” he said. “Sarge wants us to get Donut and get out as soon as possible!”

“Well, I want to sit and eat pancakes,” Grif said.

“Do you want crumbled up Oreos in yours, Grif?” Donut asked.

“Oh, god, yes,” Grif said, moaning.

“I think he just creamed his pants,” Tucker said.

“Simmons, I can make yours with the special healthy whole grain flour batter that I’m using for mine,” Donut said.

“That’s how my mom made them, how did you know – “ Simmons started.

“A girl has her secrets, Simon,” Caboose answered for Donut.

“Oh, for the – “ Church muttered. “Caboose, Donut is not a girl! Didn’t you find that out when you fucked him?”

Simmons made a strange noise in his throat. “Donut fucked _Caboose_?” he squeaked.

“Eh, whatever.” Grif shrugged. “We all knew he was into guys anyways. So it’s not like it’s a surprise.”

“Maybe now he’ll stop hitting on all of us,” Simmons said. “That’s why they don’t allow gay men in the military.”

“Yeah. Gay sex is gross,” Grif said. “Tastes like ass.”

“Glad to see we all agree on something,” Church said, his voice scathing.

“You all seemed to enjoy it last night well enough,” Donut echoed. “Oh, and breakfast is ready!” He carried over a steaming tray of pancakes.

“Wait, you fucked Donut last night?” Grif accused Simmons.

“No, dumbass, I fucked _you_!”

The table went silent.

“Okay,” Grif started. “One, that wasn’t fucking, that was just screwing around. And two, guys giving each other blowjobs doesn’t count as gay sex.”

“Well, it definitely doesn’t count as straight sex,” Tucker said, helping himself to a heaping portion of pancakes.

“And why are _you_ so calm about this all of a sudden?” Church asked.

“I guess I’ve just accepted that weirder stuff has happened in this canyon than straight guys getting it on with other straight guys,” Tucker said. “Plus, I now have suitable blackmail material to get every single one of you kicked out of the army if I choose.”

“Ha!” Church said. “You can’t use what you’ve got against me without also incriminating yourself!”

“Great. Now _they_ can use it,” Tucker said, gesturing towards Grif and Simmons.

“Wait, so does that mean that Sarge was the only one not fucking a guy last night?” Grif asked. “Unless. . .”

“Lopez!” Simmons yelped. “Oh god, I think I’m going to be sick. Somebody get that image out of my head.”

“It can’t be Lopez! _I’m_ Lopez, remember?” Church said.

“Doc?” Grif suggested.

“God, that’s even worse!” Simmons shuddered. “This is like imagining your parents having sex.”

Silence returned to the table and everyone resumed eating.

Then the door banged open.

“When did somebody even shut that!” Church muttered.

“Alright, men! Seize Donut and run!” barked Sarge.

Grif and Simmons looked up from their pancakes. They blinked.

“What in the devil’s name is going on in here?” Sarge yelled.

“Uh, breakfast?” Grif answered. He took another bite.

“Quit fraternizing with the enemy and get back to work!” Sarge ordered.

Simmons stumbled out of his chair, nearly tripping over the leg as he moved. “Uh, yes, sir!” he said.

“I’ll get back to work after breakfast,” Grif said.

“. . . No you won’t,” Simmons said.

“Damn straight I won’t!” Grif said happily.

“There’s still a couple pancakes left if you’d like some, sir!” Donut said.

“I guess I do need the extra calories to keep up my strength!” Sarge said. “Trying to kill Grif all the time really takes a lot out’ya. This morning, Doc told me – “

Everyone at the table choked on their next bite of pancake.

Then Church noticed that Caboose had _actually_ started to choke, and he called everyone’s attention to him.

“Grif, do something!” Donut yelled.

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the only one who knows stuff like CPR!” Simmons said.

“No way. I am _not_ going to put my lips on Caboose’s mouth!” Grif protested.

“Why not?”

“Because that would just be gay!”


End file.
